


Act My Age

by BadDancer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Eating Disorders, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22286242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadDancer/pseuds/BadDancer
Summary: Frankie and Peter do not like each other. In fact, the kind of hate each other.However, after being bitten by a questionable spider on a school trip, the two arch enemies are forced to work together in order to figure out why suddenly they have abs and sticky fingers.Either of them would have picked anyone else to share this secret with, but now their stuck with each other and have to push through years of resentment in order to do some good with their shitty situation.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Frankie Hart & Peter Parker Hate Each Other

Frankie Hart was aggravated by most things.

Squeaky shoes, the patriarchy and people who brought babies to action movies to only name a few. Her temper was legend at Midtown High. People avoided her when she looked pissed off- which was most of the time, which she blamed her resting face for- and looked on in awe when she publicly chewed out teachers for their stupid lesson plans. And no one would forget the time she made their English teacher cry in seventh grade over a fundamental disagreement over whether Lord of the Flies would have been the same if the island had been populated by girls. She liked to believe she won the argument.

However, what was pissing her off right now was the irritating sound of The Rolling Stones blasting through the kitchen.

"Would you turn that shit off?" Frankie groaned, shoving the last lock of stringy blonde hair into a red hair tie, "It's literally five in the morning."

"And yet you're awake." her older brother Charlie shot back, shoving some pancake into his mouth, "And still in desperate need of a dye job."

The younger girl shrugged, snatching a piece of toast off of the counter and swiping back the home dyed pink tips of her hair off her shoulders. She'd bleached and chopped it a few months ago, staining the bathroom sink a sickly pink color. "I've got a project due today for chemistry. I'm measuring energy output of combusting biodiesel-"

"Yeah, I remember that project," completely ignoring her, Charlie continued chewing, already dressed and brown hair flopping over his eyes in that stupid way he thought made him look cool. He flicked his eyes over to her and looked her up and down, snorting at the sight of her rainbow sweater and threadbare green pants tucked into old brown boots.

"Are you seriously wearing that?", he questioned, speaking through a mouthful of blueberry pancakes, "Is it to distract from all the acne?"

Frankie's face grew hot with anger, mouth twisting open with a ready insult when their father Thomas bumbled his way into the room. His salt and pepper hair was a mess and his work clothes were carefully pressed to the best of his ability.

"Leave your sister alone", he chided, voice half cheery in that way it always was in the mornings to Frankie's annoyance, "She's a growing girl. Just because you didn't have an awkward phase doesn't mean she won't either."

"Dad!" the girl squeaked, hand flying up to her acne covered cheek.

"Francine!" her brother imitated smugly, sauntering towards the fridge to grab some orange juice. He didn't even give her a chance to snap and say her name was Frankie when he continued talking. "Dad, we're almost out of pasta."

"I'll pick some up at the store,'' he responded quickly, clapping his son on the back, "Gotta keep that calorie intake up, am I right?"

"That's what coach said,'' Charlie muttered, gulping down a mouthful of orange juice straight from the bottle, "I've gotta get to practice soon."

"Oh, I'll give you a ride", their dad offered cheerily, walking past Frankie with little attention, "Go ahead and hop in."

"But dad," the girl piped, feeling her shoulders hunch up, "You told me you'd give me a ride to school. I've gotta get there early to set up my project."

Her father's face scrunched up, pushing back his salt and pepper hair and rubbing his temples. "Right! Right, I did say that. Just- uh, just hop in the back seat. I'll take you both."

"She can't," Charlie cut him off, already tossing his backpack over his shoulder, "All my gear is in the back plus my history diorama. No room."

Their father looked guiltily over at Frankie, who felt her fists ball up. "He's already set up in the car."

"But-"

"Just take the subway, Frankie. I'll give you a ride next time."

The girl felt her face tighten into a scowl. In contrast, her voice grew quiet. "But you promised."

"Your brother is captain of the lacrosse team, he has to get to practice," her dad argued back, "How about you go over to the Parker's and ask for a ride. I'm sure they would be happy to help."

Both Frankie and Charlie snorted at the same time, the former sneering over at the two men across the room.

Charlie continued to chuckle, however. He found the whole thing funny. "Did you conveniently forget she and Peter hate each other? Like, one wrong word away from kicking the shit out of each other kind of hate."

Instead of telling Charlie not to use that language- which he most certainly would have done to Frankie- he turned to his daughter with a disappointed look. "Are you still bullying that Parker boy?"

"I'm not bullying him," Frankie argued, crossing her arms, "I'm just… selectively crushing his will to live."

Thomas groaned again, rubbing at the side of his head. "Frankie-"

"You said it's not safe for me to take the subway alone so early", Frankie cut him off, changing the subject, "Especially when I'm carrying a bunch of heavy materials for a science project."

"Well…" he shrugged, looking unsure, "Just this once won't hurt."

Frankie wanted to say that it wasn't just this once. That he'd done this at least four times since the start of the school year. But she didn't say anything. She never did. Instead, she watched her brother and father dash out the door, leaving her standing in the kitchen in her admittedly ugly clothes with no ride and no goodbye.

Just perfect...

She felt her face twist into a scowl, head dropping as she trudged back towards her room to gather her school supplies. The faded blue walls of her room were bare, save for the occasional band poster. Joan Jett and No Doubt peered down at her as she scooped up her backpack and trash bag filled with materials for the project due later that day. A few old broadway posters were barely held up by tape on the walls.

Curled up on her polka dot comforter was Lady Cordelia, Frankie's ageing cat that was currently laying on top of her history textbook. Her black fur stuck in between the old pages. The little creature mewed up at her, paw stretched out as if in greeting. It made the girl's lips quirk up a little, the silence of the apartment a little more bearable.

"Come on, Cordelia" the girl muttered, gently prodding the old cat off of her book, "I've gotta go, sweetie. I promise you can nap on my books later."

The old thing made a small mewing sound, stretching her legs out before slumping back down into a sleeping position with her legs curled up under her. Frankie gave her a gentle scratch on the belly before deciding to leave the poor thing to her nap.

Kicking a few stray books back under her bed, Frankie shuffled her way out of the room and all the way out of the apartment, grabbing a plate of pancakes along the way. Looking over the counter, she realized there was no lunch for her. Whatever. Her stomach felt weird anyway.

Her old converse scuffed against the linoleum floor on her way to the elevator. The old thing was probably about to bust at the seams but it held up okay under her weight. She pressed the lobby button and rode all the way down, past the Parker's floor. She had absolutely no desire to ask them for a ride. So, subway it is.

Once the door opened on the lobby, she stepped out, feet dragging a little under the extra weight of her science materials. Over at the desk was Perry, the only desk manager who actually liked her. His head perked up at the sound of her footsteps, a slow smile spreading over his face.

"Morning, Little Miss Bubblegum," he drawled, low voice smooth and lazy as he once again looked over her poorly dyed blonde and pink hair, "You got anything for me today?"

"You know I do," she smirked, dropping the plate of pancakes in front of him.

He chuckled, pulling the plate closer to himself. "What's the trashbag for?"

"Science project", she responded calmly, adjusting the plastic bag on her shoulder, "Combusting biodiesel to measure energy output."

"Those are too many big words." Perry responded lowly.

Frankie shrugged, already stepping away from the desk. "What can I say? I go to the fanciest public school in Brooklyn. I better get going, though. Project to do and all."

Perry waved her off, tucking into the pancakes she'd given him. "Knock 'em dead, kid."

"Always do!"

Frankie opened up the lobby doors into the brisk, dark morning. As usual, the streets stank of fuel and traces of old piss. Brooklyn was its usual ugly self in the morning. The blonde kept moving along towards the subway stop, only four blocks from the apartment. Very few people milled around the sidewalk as she made her way to the stop, swinging around onto the stairs and descending into the bacteria ridden subway.

She ended up waiting only a few minutes before she climbed onto a mostly empty subway car and made her way towards Midtown High. She'd stuck her earbuds in not long after sitting down and left them in as she made her way off, music far too loud to be perfectly healthy. Not like she particularly cared. Frankie liked the way it drowned out the outside world, drowning her in her own thoughts.

It was still dark outside as she made it up to the sidewalk, the lightest traces of lavender light spilling over the concrete. It was already starting to feel warmer, though. She could feel a little sweat sticking to her sweater. It was far too warm outside to be wearing it, but once she made it inside the school, the frigid air would be too cold not to have one.

Frankie carefully counted her steps. It kept her mind from freaking out over her project. One hundred and twenty six steps to the subway. Six steps towards her seat. Fifty seven taps of her foot against the subway floor. Fifty seven steps to the school.

Midtown High came into view in front of her, the iron gates at the front tall and imposing as she made her way through. The school grounds were effectively empty, no students in the school this early. Maybe a few janitors. She briefly wondered if Erica was working today- she was a nice woman. Single mother, always let Frankie sneak into the library before it opened.

With the music still blaring in her ears, Frankie didn't hear the person on the other side of the corner she was turning. She slammed straight into whoever it was, nearly dropping all her supplies and giving herself a panic attack in the process.

"Jesus, watch where you're-"

The blonde's mouth snapped shut when she realized who she'd run into.

Peter fucking Parker.

His face immediately fell at the sight of her as well, pulling into a scowl. Frankie noted a new batch of acne was popping up over his cheeks up to where his glasses rested on his nose. He only reached up to her nose, several inches shorter than her- a fact that made her feel prouder than she logically knew it should- and he always seemed to be glaring up at her through his mop of brown curls.

"Oh look," he groaned, clearly not pleased to be seeing her, "It's Satan's intern."

"Oh look," she quipped back, familiar with this game they played as she glanced down at his Avengers t-shirt, "It's the human equivalent of food poisoning. What's with the shirt? You like supporting mass murderers?"

"They're not murderers, Frankie," Peter bit back, "If you hadn't noticed, they literally saved the world."

"At the price of- what was it?" she tapped her finger to her chin, as if she didn't already have the answer memorized, "Four hundred and thirty two civilian lives across the board?"

Peter was glaring at her again, glasses slipping down his nose as Frankie decided to change the subject. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I'm setting up for the Chem presentation," he responded begrudgingly, "I'm guessing that's why you're here so early?"

"Oh no," she gushed back, "I'm here for the delight of being in your mere presence. Golden boy Peter Parker graces me with his existence."

Peter shrugged noncommittally. "It's not my fault half the teachers figured out you're a harpy."

"Ah, but the other half loves me", Frankie responded, adjusting the bag of materials on her shoulder, "Good job on all the chewed up gum in my chem book yesterday. Real original. I'm guessing the idea came from your fellow dork."

Peter shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose with a pleased smile. "Can't prove it was me."

Frankie nodded, pressing her lips together and looking down her nose at the shorter boy. "Just like you can't prove what's in your locker was put there by me."

His eyes widened, back straightening. "What did you put in my locker?"

"Nothing you can prove," she simpered with a sickly sweet smile, "Ready to have your ass kicked in Chem?"

"Impossible," he shot back, arms crossing over his skinny torso, "My project is gonna blow everyone's minds."

The blonde hummed, nodding her head with a cocky smile. "Strong words from the boy who just got knocked down to second in the class."

"I- I did not!" he sputtered back, face tightening up in a surprised frown.

Flashing the boy a sick smile, Frankie shrugged and flipped her short hair back. "Check the school website. Updated last night. Best of luck, dipshit!"

With a perky little jump to rub it in, Frankie skipped around the shorter boy and relished in the fact that within the hour Peter would open his locker to have two air horns rigged inside, ready to blow the second he opened the door.

\----

So the prank didn't go over as well as Frankie had hoped. At least, that's how the teacher that had been walking by when the air horns went off had felt about it.

Unfortunately for her, the teacher that had been walking by had been Mr. Holden, a man who particularly hated being Frankie's teacher. He didn't need proof to know that she'd been the one to rig up the locker, and he'd been quick to give the girl detention. Now, she was stuck in a mostly empty classroom with only her usual partner in such punishments, MJ. The other girl sat sketching in an old notebook, casually leaning back in her seat.

"What are you in for this time?" Frankie asked calmly, the familiarity of the moment almost static.

MJ's eyes flicked over to the bottle blonde, not stopping her drawing. "Civil disobedience. You?"

"Rigging someone's locker to blast airhorns."

The taller girl snorted, a smirk spreading over her sharp features. Frankie smiled in turn, ducking her head and resting her chin on her folded arms.

"You wanna check out that new documentary this weekend?" the girl asked, a yawn at the back of her throat.

MJ shrugged, lips still turned up as she sketched away. "I'll bring Poptarts."

Frankie's heavy eyes fluttered closed for a moment, feeling the day catch up to her. Besides her unfortunate academic imprisonment, the rest of the day had been somewhat okay. Her chem project had gone on without a hitch, earning her a near perfect score on the assignment. But, of course, Peter had earned a point higher, which had made her blood boil. One stupid lousy point had been the difference between her earning the hightest score in the class.

"Miss Hart."

Fuck.

The bored girl looked up to see Mr. Holden glaring at her with what she thought to be unnecessarily excessive amounts of exaggeration. He'd never liked her. At least not since she stuck several dozen Fuck The Patriarchy stickers on the screen of his computer after he told her that her tank top was distracting. He couldn't prove it was her so he couldn't give her detention, but he could give her as many withering looks as he pleased.

Apparently proof didn't matter to him anymore. Even if, technically, she did do it.

"Yes, Mr. Holden?" she responded in a sickly sweet voice, folding her hands in front of her.

"Will you tell me if you put that airhorn trap in Mr. Parker's locker this morning?" he groaned, seemingly annoyed at himself for bringing it up at all.

She gave an exaggerated shocked face, mouth pulled open in surprise. "Why I'd never do such a thing!"

"Because if you had" he continued begrudgingly, "I'd have to give you another detention. That would be your fifth this year just for bullying Peter."

"I thought I'd already been wrongfully punished for that crime."

"We never had this kind of trouble with your brother-"

"I'm not bullying Peter," she cut Holden off intensly. She'd heard that argument a million times from a million teachers. Aggravated she pulled out a lock of hair from the assortment of barrettes holding back the blonde and bubblegum mess, twisting it around her finger. "I'm fostering a semi-healthy rivalry. It keeps our grades up and libido's down."

Both Mr. Holden and Peter gagged at the comment. The older man looked about ready to slam his head into the desk in front of him. "If I let you go, will you stop referencing your libido?"

Frankie held up her right hand. "Scouts honor."

That effectively shut the teacher up, ending in him waving her out of the room. As soon as he did, Frankie snatched up her backpack and made her way towards the door. More locks of hair fell over her face as she practically skipped out. Just as she was about to step through, her ears perked up at the sound of Mr. Holden's voice.

"We've only got three more years of you, anyway."

The girl felt her mouth twist into a scowl, feet going still beneath her. Clearly the man didn't think she'd heard him, but that didn't stop the sting of his words from hitting Frankie square in the chest.

She couldn't help but think of how anyone else would have been treated differently. Her brother, for one, would never be looked at the way she was. He was lacrosse captain, future valedictorian, science wiz on his way to being hired right out of college by Oscorp. He was Midtown's resident golden boy. Frankie was anything but. No matter how high she was on the honor roll, how close she was on the road to being valedictorian herself, she was a pariah. An intellectual parasite.

Frankie turned slightly to see that MJ had noticed she was still there. Schooling her face into its usual smirk, she shrugged at the other girl to show her that she wasn't bothered before turning back down the hall.

So what if she was a parasite in the eyes of the school. She would be a parasite who ended up valedictorian.

\----

"How was school, buddy?"

Peter shrugged off his backpack and looked over at his uncle Ben sprawled out on the couch. His work clothes were wrinkled and his tie was loosened around his neck as some Start Trek episode was playing on the TV. Leonard Nimoy was giving some monologue that Peter couldn't quite remember off the top of his head.

"Not bad," he replied easily, dropping down next to Ben on the couch, "My project got the top grade."

Ben smiled over at his nephew, ruffling his hair good naturedly. "Look at that. Too bad I genuinely don't understand how it works."

Peter chuckled, sinking into the couch. "I'll explain it to you later. Where's May?"

"Work," Ben responded with a shrug, "They're having her pull an all nighter at the office. Again."

The boy's face fell a little. He'd been hoping to tell May about how well his project went over. She'd been excited to hear about it this morning. It had been a little annoying at first, but he'd really been excited to mention it to her.

"Well, anything else happen?" his uncle cut off his thoughts, clearly but easily changing the subject. He was good at that. Reading a room.

"Well, Frankie rigged my locker with air horns," the teen offered, his eyes rolling back and plopping his head on the back of the couch.

To his annoyance, Ben started chuckling. He glared over at his uncle, whose slow smile kept spreading over his face. "Wish I had that girl's creativity."

"Creativity?" Peter sputtered incredulously, straightening up, "She's been torturing me since third grade!"

"Yeah, but weren't you friends before that?" his uncle pointed out with his annoyingly knowing look, "You two were something of a dynamic duo."

"We were eight," Peter argued back, "Things- I don't know, things changed."

"What things?"

The boy groaned, throwing his head back again. He scowled at the memory of Frankie back before everything changed. Her choppy brown hair and bright green overalls and bright smile filled with crooked teeth. Then her smile turned into a scowl and she'd started walking away from him at lunch and snapping insults at him. He'd tried for months to figure out what had happened. Then, after what happened to her mom, he stepped back. Now here they were, and he still didn't have a good answer for why it all happened.

Instead of saying that, though, Peter just shrugged his shoulders up and watched Scotty beam Kirk down to another random planet. "Guess she turned into a demon."

\----

_Whack!_

Frankie swung at her punching bag once again, the sound of her wrapped knuckles hitting the vinyl filling her bedroom. The Ramones were blasting in her ears, covering up the sounds of her brother's crappy music playing in the kitchen. He'd taken over the living room with his big physics project, leaving Frankie to slump away to her own room having already finished all her homework while he'd been at practice. Their dad was at work, enjoying overtime and any time spent away from home.

Now, she was punching the shit out of this bag, bouncing carefully on the balls of her feet and making sure she didn't step on Cordelia. A therapist had suggested it after her mom died. Something about releasing aggression in a healthy manner. To be honest, Frankie didn't remember much of those brief sessions. They'd been so many years ago. But she still had the punching bag in her closet at all times, ready to be hooked up to her ceiling.

"Hey!"

The sound of her brother's voice startled Frankie, the punch she'd been throwing stopping mid-thrust. She tugged her earbuds out, sweat matting her hair as she pushed it back with her other hand.

"What the hell?" she panted, pulling at her shirt to keep it off of her sticky back.

"Could you please keep it down?" Charlie sighed, glaring at his little sister, "Mr. Kim is going to call the landlord on us again if you keep it up."

The blonde girl's head ducked slightly, fists unclenching at her side. "Yeah. Sorry, I guess."

"No shit," her brother reprimanded, leaning on her door frame lazily.

Frankie noticed he had something dark green smeared under his eyes, half rubbed away. Pointing towards it, the girl wrinkled her nose while pointing it out. "You've got something on your face."

Charlie looked confused for a second before he nodded his head, wiping under his eyes with his wrist. "Grease paint. Keeps the sun out of our eyes during games."

He didn't seem interested in elaborating, instead dropping his hands and looking at the corner of her room, "What the hell is that?"

Frankie followed his gaze, eyes landing on her newest project. It was only half assembled and objectively ugly, but the fact that he'd noticed it made the girl straighten up a bit with excitement. She'd been working on it for weeks with marginal success and no one had asked about it yet.

"It's a micro specific cauterization instrument," she explained, trying and failing to keep the pride out of her voice as she picked up the half built object up off the ground, "You see, it attaches to the wrist. There's gonna be a lever that reaches up to the palm, and when you press it, a laser is able to cauterize-"

"Yeah, cool," Charlie cut her off, rubbing at his head, "Laser toy. Got it."

Frankie's face dropped, her grip on the instrument loosening. Of course he didn't care. "It's not a laser toy. It's a medical instrument."

The taller boy shrugged, his face hardening slightly while already moving to close the door. "Whatever. It's late and I've got practice in the morning. Please just quit it with the punching, okay?"

Feeling her gut twist and ears heat up, Frankie resisted the urge to say something. Anything. Tell her brother he was an asshole, say her invention was interesting. But she never seemed to be able to say anything in this house. Not like she could at school. It all died in her lungs before she could say anything at all. Besides, it wouldn't matter. Charlie had already turned back out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

"Yeah" the girl said to herself, dropping her invention on her bed. It was stupid anyway. Probably wouldn't have worked.

Her eyes flicked over to her window. A little crack covered in duct tape cut through the city light spilling through the glass. Huffing in a breath, she walked over and opened it up to the night. The sound of Queens erupted the second the window opened up. Right outside of it was a fire escape, though she'd spent little time on it since she was ten. It remained sturdy beneath her feet, only the slightest groan made her wonder if it would collapse. Instead, she set her sights higher. With a small grunt, the blonde stepped onto the old ladder and wrapped her fingers around the bars. Her hands were still wrapped up, scraping against the rough metal. Climbing it was second nature, the way up familiar and easy. It's not like she went that high, just high enough to reach the fire escape outside of the apartment that never got rented out. No one was there to pay any attention to her. It was high up enough to make her feel like she was wrapped up in her own little corner of Queens. Curling up in the corner, Frankie stared out at the neighborhood.

Her mom would have liked the instrument. She would have probably even come up with a clever name for it. She'd been an EMT so she would have understood the purpose of it. It could cauterize severed arteries without having to deal with nerve clamps or shaky hands. It could stop someone from bleeding out.

Frankie tried not to think that maybe it would have stopped her mom from bleeding out, too.


	2. Wherefore Art Thou, Cordelia?

"Cordelia!"

Frankie was on her hands and knees, searching under every piece of furniture in the apartment. She hadn't seen her cat in almost six hours and she was starting to freak out. Her ratty pajamas were bunched up around her knees, the green fabric long faded and threadbare.

"Would you please quiet down?" Charlie groaned, poking his head out of his room with a serious case of bed head, "It's Sunday. Sunday is a day for sleeping."

Frankie pushed herself up to her knees and turned to her brother. "Sorry, yeah, I just-"

"Have you been up all night?" he questioned, finally stepping out of his room.

The simple answer was yes. She'd actually been up for the last twenty eight hours working on her cauterization device. But she wasn't about to admit that. "No- no, I woke up about an hour ago, and now I can't find-"

"Have you eaten?"

She froze for a millisecond, eyes flicking over to her brother. He looked halfway between concerned and annoyed. She kept her face neutral, avoiding his eyes as much as she could. "How the fuck can I eat when I can't find my cat?"

Her brother's mouth twisted up as he rolled his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Cordelia," she clarified, voice tight and annoyed, "I can't find Cordelia anywhere. I've looked through the whole apartment."

"Maybe she finally decided to jump out the window," the boy grumbled, "Maybe then this place wouldn't reek of cat litter."

A white hot flash of anger shot through Frankie. She didn't even realize she'd snatched up a pillow before she'd thrown it hard at Charlie's head. He ducked, glaring at her with wide eyes. "Hey, what the fuck-"

"Don't talk about Cordelia like that!" she spat, her whole body rigid and ready to snap, "Mom gave me that cat."

The silence that followed made Frankie want to curl in on herself. Charlie just stared at her, his hair stuck up in different directions that only framed his strangely upset face. With a sigh, he ducked his head and nodded.

"Fine," he mumbled as he pushed his hair out of his face, "Maybe she's out in the hall."

The girl's brows pulled together. "Why would she be in the hall?"

"Sometimes she sneaks out the door when we come in," Charlie shrugged, his voice crackling with barely contained yawns, "Usually I just scoop her up and throw her back in before you notice."

"Throw?" she gaped, already reaching for another pillow to chuck at his head, "You threw my fucking cat?"

"Are you gonna look for your stupid cat or not?" he griped before turning back into his room and slamming his door shut, the pillow bouncing off of it and landing limply on the floor.

A strangled groan escaped Frankie's lips before she ran out into the hall, already calling out to her cat. She looked all over their floor, passing by every apartment before realizing that Cordelia wasn't there. She griped at her hair, desperately looking in every corner before she noticed that the door to the stairs was open.

"Oh, shit," she hissed, running straight into the stairwell.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold floor as she descended. "Cordelia? Lady Cordelia? Baby, come on!"

Each door she passed was closed, meaning the cat couldn't have gone onto another floor yet. She checked every one until she came across one cracked open just enough for the old creature to slink through. Not bothering to check which floor it was, Frankie burst through the door and started calling out in hushed tones to make sure she didn't wake anyone up.

"Cordelia?" she whispered just loud enough to be heard, "Sweetie, you around here?"

She kept tiptoeing through the hall, starting to feel cold in only her pajama pants and t-shirt. She carefully eyed every corner, continuing to call out and try to attract her lost cat.

"Cordelia, come on-"

"Excuse me, are you looking for this one?"

Frankie whirled around at the sound of someone talking behind her. She nearly fell off her feet as she came to a stop in front of Ben Parker.

He stood in his doorway, brows quirked up and face concerned. She remembered him from a long time ago, though he looked ever so slightly older. The sides of his eyes still crinkled at the sides, like he was always smiling. His dark hair was rumpled and he was wearing old flannel pajamas. But what caught her eye was the fluffy black cat cradled gently in his arms. Her eyes widened and her arms snapped out as she ran towards the man.

"Cordelia!" she smiled, hands going up to her scruff and gently scratching, "Are you okay, sweetie? Why'd you wander off?"

Mr. Parker smiled down at her, joining her in giving Cordelia a little scratch behind the ear. "Saw this little one walking around looking lost. Figured I'd hold onto her until I could ask around about who she belonged to."

"Oh, this girl doesn't belong to anyone," Frankie cooed, pulling the cat from Mr. Parker's gentle hold and cradling her to her chest, "She's an independent woman. But I do like hanging out with her."

The older man chuckled, relinquishing his hold on Cordelia. His eyes quickly scanned over her. "New hair."

"Few months old," she responded, eyes flicking towards him only for a moment before continuing to inspect her cat, "Got bored."

"Too bad. You looked so much like your mother."

Frankie's fingers paused over Cordelia's dark fur, the mention of her mother making her blood go cold for a moment. Mr. Parker seemed to notice, quickly changing tactics and pointing towards her sleep shirt. "Still a Slytherin, I see."

Frankie's eyes went down to her shirt, the Hogwarts house name emblazoned on the front. There were several tears in the shoulder and a hole towards the bottom, but she'd never been able to throw it away. Holding her cat a little closer as the creature pawed at her face, she sent what she hoped was a nice look up towards Mr. Parker.

"What can I say?" she shrugged, feeling Cordelia's paws press against her cheekbone, "Some stories stand the test of time."

Mr. Parker nodded, a slow smile spreading over his face. "I remember you and Peter dressing up as- what were their names?"

Frankie's head ducked slightly. "Harry and Ginny-"

"Harry and Ginny, yes," he laughed, nodding his head, "You two were adorable. I swore you were going to puke all over our living room on Halloween. I'm surprised it didn't come out neon from all the candy you two inhaled."

As Frankie listened to him reminisce, her stomach twisted up in knots. Having to listen to stories about who she used to be on an empty stomach was not a pleasant venture. She didn't like talking about this. Pretending. She was never one for lies.

"I'm so sorry that I woke you up," she said simply, feet shuffling underneath her.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Mr. Parker shrugged it off easily, "Peter's been up all night building a computer."

The girl nodded, lips pressed together and stringy hair falling over her cheeks. "Still dumpster diving, I see."

"Not much has changed," he responded, face falling slightly, "Not everything, I guess."

Her face nearly fell at that, but she managed to keep it neutral. Resting bitch face was a blessing at the moment. The edges of her lips felt tight as she pressed them hard together. She stretched them into a hard smile, feeling her face tighten around it. The older man seemed to notice. He quirked his brows up and pointed towards his apartment door.

"You know, we're about to have breakfast," he offered gently, "You're free to join us."

Frankie's mouth opened and closed uncomfortably. She buried her fingers in Cordelia's fur. "I- I really shouldn't."

"You sure?" he inquired, his eyes going soft, "We're making chocolate chip pancakes. Those were always your favorite."

"Guess I lost my taste for it."

He held her eyes for a moment, practically looking straight through her. "Somehow I doubt that."

The teen dropped the man's gaze, looking back over to her cat. She gently rubbed the top of her head before stepping towards the elevator. "I- I better be going. Long day of homework and such."

Mr. Parker raised his hand in a limp little wave. "Say hello to your family for me. And the offer for breakfast is still on the table."

She nodded stiffly, turning away as quickly as she could. She could hear Mr. Parker stepping back into his apartment, the sound of the morning news spilling out before he closed the door. Her face fell almost immediately, slipping back into a frown as she cuddled her cat close.

She rode the elevator back up to her floor, her bare feet cold on the linoleum floor as she padded her way back home. Gently, she opened the door and heard the static silence inside. She placed Cordelia on the counter and the little thing sauntered away towards her food bowl. Frankie looked around the quiet apartment, her hands unsure of what to do now that she had no one to talk to.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice cracking a little over the word.

"Shut up!"

Charlie's voice spilled out from his room, tight and annoyed. She could picture him throwing his pillow over his face to block out her voice. No word from her father's room. Frankie's mouth snapped shut, eyes falling on the empty counter. Slowly, she moved towards her room, already thinking of the homework she would bury herself in.


	3. School Bites

"May, I do no need to bring a blazer on the field trip."

Peter was currently standing in the middle of his apartment, his aunt running around from one corner to the next trying to get him prepared for his class's field trip to Columbia University. The sun was barely up but she was running around like someone had snuck Redbull in her coffee. Uncle Ben was just sitting at the counter, calmly watching the whole scene unfold. His dark hair fell back over his head as he smirked at May. She'd been like this all morning, frantically skipping from place to place to get everything ready despite Peter's pleas for her to stop.

"Yes you do!" she called back from inside his room, popping her head out of the door, "You need to look nice and spiffy. Those college administrators catch word that you're half as smart as you really are, they'll be crawling all over you. And you need to look good when they take notice."

"May!" Peter groaned, tilting his head back in exaggeration.

"Let the boy dress himself," Ben shrugged, reaching idly over for his cup of coffee.

"Yes!" Peter sighed in relief, "Thank you."

His uncle eyed him over the rim of his mug, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "If he wants to look like a nerdy vagrant, that's up to him."

The teen shot his uncle a glare, which was only met with a smirk and a coffee mug lifted up in salute.

"Okay!" she relented, hands up in surrender as she made her way over to the kitchen, "At least remember to take your lunch. Can't let my little genius starve."

The teen accepted his bagged lunch with a small smile. "Please stop calling me that."

"Never," she smirked, "Now go knock those fancy university professors dead."

His aunt placed a great big kiss on his forehead and Peter gave the obligatory disgusted sound, though they both knew they kind of enjoyed it. The boy wiped at his forehead, shooting May a sweet look and Ben a wave before making his way towards the door.

"Tell me all about it when you get back!" May called out as he stepped through the door.

"I will!" Peter called back, closing the door behind him and heading towards the elevators.

He only had to wait a few seconds for the doors to open. However, the person on the other side made him think he should probably just take the stairs. Standing in the corner, flipping through what looked like a Columbia informational pamphlet, was Frankie. Today she donned a pair of jeans and a dark blue top that looked like it had been ripped straight from a generic catalogue, though her converse covered in doodles kept her usual strange style. Her muscular shoulders strained against the ugly fabric of her blouse and her fading pink streaks looked limp against the fabric. A notebook was tucked under one arm precariously, pen tucked up behind her ear. She looked like she was trying to look impressive, or what she thought people thought was impressive. Peter felt his shoulders sag, realizing that she'd spotted him before he had a chance to step out of view.

"Are you getting in or not?" she grumbled, turning back to her pamphlet, "Clearly we both have somewhere to be."

"Cheerful as always," he mumbled back, stepping into the elevator begrudgingly.

The two teens lapsed into silence as they went down. Neither had much interest in talking. She must be saving her insults for when they got to Columbia. Some solid quips to make sure he was humiliated in front of people he wanted to work for someday. He could hear her music blasting from her headphones- some older pop rock hit from the 90's, if her usual taste was still intact. She kept her eyes glued to the pamphlet in front of her, seeming to be soaking every detail out of it.

Another detail he picked up on was the fact that she had no lunch in her hands. There was no way she had it in her backpack since neither of them had brought one. No use in it on a field trip. He could hear her stomach grumbling over the faint sound of music spilling from her ears.

Without much thought, Peter tugged out one of the headphones, making Frankie jump.

"Hey, what the hell-"

"It's better for your hearing," he said calmly, not having the energy to participate in one of their usual fights, "Where's your lunch? Mr. Harrington said they won't be providing any."

The taller girl shrugged, though he could see the tips of her ears go pink. "I forgot."

"You don't forget things," the boy pointed out, "Ever. It's one of your more annoying qualities."

"Really?" she quipped back, "I thought my general rage was my more repugnant attribute."

"It's not great," Peter shrugged, pressing on, "Where's your lunch?"

The girl's eyes flicked up to him once, so quick he wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't been looking. "Charlie took the last of the food. All we had left was spinach and a box of Cheerios. Dad hasn't gone grocery shopping and apparently my brother needs to bulk up for the start of the season. I'll buy something when I get there."

"I don't think they sell the souls of the innocent," the boy smirked, "That's what you eat, right?"

"Ha ha," Frankie deadpanned, shooting him a glare, "You're a riot, Parker."

Peter looked over at the taller girl, her body figure a little painful to look at. She was all sharp edges. But he could hear her stomach grumbling, something she clearly hoped he couldn't hear. He couldn't help the twinge in his chest at the sound. She was kind of a bitch, but he'd noticed she didn't eat much throughout the day lately. When she did, it was something very plain and unappetizing that had been shoved into a paper bag like no one cared if the food survived.

"Do you want half my sandwich?"

Frankie's eyes flicked over to him, body stiff and eyes distrustful. She looked him over for a moment before opening her mouth. "No."

Peter waited for her to continue, for some comment that somehow insulted both his intellect and his manhood. But nothing came. He glanced over at her to see that Frankie was messing with her shirt, still staring at the paper in front of her. She looked deeply uncomfortable in the clothes she was wearing, like they were too tight in the wrong places.

"What? No witty comeback?" Peter inquired, bringing his eyes forward and watching the floor numbers tick down, "I expected more from you."

"Contrary to popular belief," she sighed, pushing the pamphlet closer to her face, "I have more important things to focus on than crushing your spirit. It's just a hobby."

The elevator finally came to a stop with a sharp ding and the doors slid open. At the sound, Frankie's eyes snapped up and she stuffed the paper in her back pocket. She scampered out of the elevator and Peter followed suit, lunch clutched in his fist and glasses sliding down his nose. They both made their way out of the lobby into the street, turning towards the subway stop.

"Quit following me, dweeb." Frankie spat over her shoulder, trying to walk faster than him, "I swear I don't have anything to torture you with."

"Why don't I believe you?" Peter grumbled, glaring at the bag.

"Because I don't want you sticking a moldy tuna sandwich in my bag again while I'm trying to make a good impression," she snapped back, shooting him a sharp look, "Don't think I forgot the last time you did that."

"It was equal retaliation for you dunking my lab notes in Dr. Pepper."

The girl snorted, seemingly fond of the memory. "Your whole notebook got sticky. It was lovely- hey buddy!"

The taller girl suddenly took a sharp turn, pushing her way towards Delmar's bodega. Peter, thrown off by her suddenly high pitched voice, wondered if she was going inside when she ducked down and started petting Mr. Delmar's cat, Murph. She cooed at the little furball, scratching behind its ears familiarly. The fat cat rubbed up against her hand as well, seemingly used to this routine.

"Hey, cutie," she purred at the cat, "How are you today? Sorry I don't have any treats-"

"Get to school already!"

Both teens jumped at the sound of Mr. Delmar's booming voice coming from behind the glass doors to his shop. Peter straightened up almost immediately, not wanting to upset the shop owner- even though he hadn't done anything. Frankie, on the other hand, didn't seem to have that concern.

"I'm going, old man," she shot back with a smirk, giving the cat a good nudge behind the ears before standing up, "You get to work pushing those sandwiches."

"I'll have one for you after school," he said gruffly, opening the door for his cat to saunter through, "You too, Mr. Parker. Now get to school."

"Thank you, Mr. Delmar," Peter piped up, giving the older man a wave and a smile that was quickly returned. Frankie gave the man a quick salute, heels popping off the ground before turning towards the subway stop. Peter quickly followed suit.

The rest of the walk was quick, silent. Frankie had ducked back into her pamphlet and Peter paid her little attention. The train was full enough for them to have several people between them as they sat down, giving Peter some relief. Soon enough they made it to their stop, school only a block away. Frankie had fallen silent, both earbuds planted firmly in her ears as she tried to block out the world.

All the better for Peter. He welcomed the quiet as they made their way towards the bus parked at the front of the school. Several dozen students already milled around, all dressed in varying levels of business casual. He pushed his glasses a little further up his nose as he and Frankie semi-willingly walked up together.

"Hey, Penis Parker!"

Peter felt his shoulders sag at the sound of Flash's nasal voice. The boy in question was a few feet away from them, dressed in clothes that cost the same as a months rent standing far too close to an uncomfortable looking girl Peter recognized from history class. She'd just transferred into Midtown. Frankie's face was twisted up in a freckled scowl at the sight of the boy. If there was one thing the two of them agreed on, it was that they both hated Flash Thompson.

"Jesus, Flash" she spat, nose crinkling in annoyance, "Is it physically impossible for you to leave a girl alone? Or will you just spontaneously combust if you're not a total douchebag to every freshman you meet?"

"What can I say, the ladies love me," the darker haired boy winked at Frankie, smile spreading wider over his face. However, the girl managed to duck out of Flash's line of sight while he was distracted. She quickly waved at Frankie, the barest traces of a thank you on her lips as she strode away. "Not like anyone's crawling over themselves to get with you, Foxy Boxer."

The taller girl pulled the earbuds out of her ears, her sharp face squinting over at Flash. "For the millionth time, it's kickboxing. Not foxy boxing, ass-hat."

"Right", he responded smugly, "You kick and punch giant bags because a doctor said you're a psycho."

"You're so right," she simpered back, eyes squinting angrily, "Want me to demonstrate how well it works?"

Flash stepped back, trying and failing to cover up his nervousness. "Fucking freak. No wonder you only hang around poor trash like Parker."

Peter felt his face burn, shoulders hunching up in embarrassment. Apparently the girl next to him didn't feel the same way. The tips of her ears went red as she glared menacingly down at Flash.

"You shut your goddamn mouth," she spat down at the shorter boy, "You don't get to talk shit, you spoiled human fleabag. Only I get to talk shit about Parker, so if you don't want your two thousand dollar watch shoved so far up your-"

"Mr. Thompson," an adult voice called out, "If you could get on the bus and stop harassing our female students, that would be wonderful."

Out of the crowd of students came Mr. Harrington, his usual dopey yet disappointed look plastered on his face. His glasses were pushed up the bridge of his nose as he made his way over to the three teens, eyeing Flash with his usual annoyance.

"I was just talking, Mr. Harrington," Flash tried to smooth over, leaning back on his heels, "It's not my fault that these two losers can't take a joke."

"Just get on the bus, Flash" the teacher groaned, pointing towards the crowd of students who were already shuffling onto the aforementioned bus.

"What about psycho over here?" Flash griped back, pointing angrily over at Frankie, "She was the one threatening me. She threatened my body."

"A real shame," Harrington shrugged, clearly unimpressed with the teen's plight, "Now please load onto the bus and review your decathlon material. We don't want a repeat of last week's practice."

Peter could swear he saw Flash's whole face go pink. He could barely contain the laughter bubbling up in his chest. He may not like her, but even he had to admit that Frankie Hart was not someone you wanted to mess with. As Flash stomped away towards the bus, Mr. Harrington turned towards the other two teens.

"If it isn't Peter The Great and Hart The Horror," he said half-cheerily, still trying to get the poor nicknames to stick, "Are you two coming to practice after the trip."

"Yeah," Peter responded quickly, "Of course I am."

Frankie, on the other hand, shrugged. "What else would I be doing?"

"Fair point," Mr. Harrington conceded easily, pointing towards the bus, "Seriously though, get on. We're leaving in a few minutes. We can't leave a student behind again. The parent's threatened to sue."

Peter watched as the teacher slumped away, seemingly only half aware of what students were doing around him. His eyes flicked over to the taller girl, who was about to shove her earbuds back into her ears. The boy, however, felt his stomach turn at the fact that he had to say something to her. God, he hated that.

"Thanks, by the way," he managed to spit out, trying to sound gentle and friendly.

Frankie looked down at him, her brows drawn together. "What?"

Peter felt the words on his tongue, but they tasted bitter. "For standing up to Flash for me. You didn't need to-"

"Don't thank me," she cut him off immediately, eyes rolling hard, "He's a half-rate rich boy asshole. No one should give a shit what he says."

"Still," he continued begrudgingly, "It was nice."

Frankie's face twisted up, looking like she'd just sucked on a lemon. "Gross. I'm never doing that again."

Jaw tightening in aggravation, Peter nodded with a glare at the girl. "Of course. I would expect nothing less from you."

"Good," she sighed, putting one earbud in, "And don't think this means you can- I don't know, swap friendship bracelets with me or something. Just because I hate Flash doesn't mean I like you."

"Just because you have one human impulse doesn't mean I like you either," Peter shot back immediately.

That seemed to be funny to Frankie, who was turning towards the doors of the bus with a grin on her face. "Whatever. The other half of the dork patrol is here for you, anyway."

Without another word, Frankie stomped away, passing Ned on the way. Peter's friend sent her a small glare as she passed, the only interaction the two ever seemed to share. Peter doubted they'd ever spoken, but Ned had declared all the way back in elementary school that he had to hate her on principle.

"Hey man," the dark haired boy greeted cheerily, "Are you getting on the bus or not?"

"Yeah, dude" Peter replied immediately, following behind his friend and onto the bus with a scowl on his face.

\---

The tour was giving Frankie anxiety sweats.

First of all, the head of Engineering's T.A. was giving the tour. Given that Engineering was Frankie's desired major, that was enough to make the teen want to gag from nerves. But add on top of that the fact that one of the professors greeted them halfway through nearly brought her over the edge. But she kept it together. At least on the outside.

These people could potentially be deciding factors in whether she got accepted to Columbia. Well, it wasn't her first choice. MIT held that spot. But it's not like she was able to jet off and attend a tour whenever she wanted. And Columbia was in state. So that was something.

She'd made it through lunch without puking. That was a good start. Maybe it helped that she didn't have a lunch to eat in the first place. She briefly wondered if she should've taken Peter up on his offer, but quickly pushed that thought away.

Now they were all touring the genetic engineering wing. Flash was livestreaming for his 'Flash Mob' as if he didn't have a care in the world. Which he probably didn't. Rich people didn't need to qualify for school, they could just pay their way in.

"...and over here you'll see our assortment of arachnid subjects." the guide said calmly, as if being around genetically engineered spiders was mundane.

Quickly, Frankie raised her hand to get the guide's attention. "Is their venom being studied for medicinal purposes?"

The tour guide's eyes fell on Frankie for a moment, looking her up and down with a barely held back look of boredom. "That's not really what we do here."

One look at her and she could already tell she didn't like Frankie. Her stomach twisted and face flushed a hot pink, hand falling back down to her side. Quietly, she shrunk back into the group.

Normally, Frankie would have been paying attention. She would have been taking aggressive amount of notes and hanging on every word, but she was already embarrassed and something had caught her eye.

Peter was missing.

She shouldn't care. She didn't, really. She hadn't been paying attention since lunch. But having someone- specifically a rival- disappear is a little more than disconcerting. And no one else seemed to notice or care. Looking around, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey", she whispered to MJ, who was standing next to her, "Have you seen Parker?"

The taller girl shrugged, keeping her eyes on the tour guide. "Why?"

"Well, what if he's talking to some professor?" Frankie hissed, keeping her voice quiet, "And he's schmoozing them and getting a letter of recommendation to MIT or something? I deserve the same chance."

MJ's eyes flicked over to the girl beside her, brow quirked up, "Sounding a bit paranoid there."

Frankie scoffed, crossing her arms. "I'm not paranoid. I'm observant."

"Could you guys please quiet down?" Ned asked, clearly trying to sound intimidating but ending up sounding just as polite as usual, "I really wanna hear this."

"Sure, whatever," Frankie shrugged, not really bothering to argue. It was always slightly harder to argue with Ned. He may not like her, but she didn't have anything against the boy. She may be an asshole, but she wasn't a dick.

Letting her eyes wander, Frankie felt her fingers twitch nervously against her arm. The tour guide continued to speak, droning on about arachnid abilities and their genetic properties. The girl couldn't care less and took in the room around her. Everything felt bigger in this building. There was more space to breathe, more things to learn. Nothing like Midtown, where everything was cramped and sweaty and loud. It made her brain feel like it was swelling up against her skull. A few more years and she'd be somewhere like this. If she could convince anyone she was worth the time.

As her eyes wandered, they fell on the boy she'd been looking for in the first place. Peter was tucked away in a corner, his phone out to take photos of the spiders they'd been observing. Frankie's lips pressed together, glancing at the overly perky tour guide before slipping away from the group. Who cared? This wasn't her major anyway.

She silently made her way over to Peter, who hadn't seemed to notice her yet. She stepped up behind him, careful to make sure her footfalls didn't make any sounds as she ducked her head precariously over his shoulder.

"Here's Johnny!"

The acne covered boy nearly jumped out of his skin, phone nearly tumbling out of his grip as he swerved around to see Frankie barely containing her laughter. His face twisted up, shoulders hunching in annoyance.

"What the hell, Frankie?" he sputtered, trying to keep his voice down.

"What?" she responded easily, laughter still pricking her voice, "It was a golden opportunity."

The boy ran his hands through his hair, glancing over at the group to make sure they weren't caught. He leaned back slightly, as if that would keep him from being seen. Frankie just stepped behind one of the display cases, keeping her smile firm on her face. She noticed one of the cages was opened.

"Why were you following me?" Peter questioned tiredly.

The girls brows pulled together, fading pink hair falling over her face. She really didn't have a good reason beyond messing with Peter. But she couldn't say that to him, instead shrugging and sticking her chin up. "Got bored with this leg of the tour. Not really a fan of the whole genetically manipulating animals thing."

At least that was true. Peter seemed to buy it, slowly shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Yeah, not my area of interest either."

"So what are we gonna do?" she asked pointedly, straightening her shoulders.

Peter scoffed slightly, eyeing the taller girl with aggravation. "We're not doing anything. You're going back to the group."

"Like hell I am."

Peter's head ducked down, his hands dropping and phone thumping against his leg. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

"To do what?" she inquired nosily, looking him over, "Take pictures of spiders? I hardly think that qualifies as fun."

His face scrunched up in annoyance, his glasses slipping down his nose. "It's for the school paper."

"Jesus, it's like you popped out of an Archie comic," Frankie chuckled, sending him a sickly sweet smile, "Wanna head down to the soda fountain and play jacks later?"

"Stop making John Mulaney quotes sound evil," he grumbled, trying to step around her, "That's a crime against humanity."

"Then give me some goddamn entertainment," she griped back, hands thrown up in aggravation as she blocked his path, "Call it a temporary ceasefire. I don't care. Just… I don't know, gimme something to work with."

"Jesus, it's like you were made in a lab to make my life miserable!"

Peter's mouth ran fast, groans and insults spilling out at lightning speed. Frankie could feel her entire face heat up again, but this time with anger. Why the hell did he think he could talk to her like that? It made her chest swell up, the feeling of his eyes boring into her angrily. Her own face twisted into a sick sort of smirk. This was what she knew, what she understood how to navigate.

However, something caught her eye mid-rant and interrupted her temporary levity. Something dark and strange looking was crawling down Peter's arm, over his sleeve like it was reaching for his skin. Her eyes zeroed in on it, unsure of what to make of it. "Dude, there's something-"

Peter completely ignored her, glaring up at the taller girl. "Could you please just leave me-"

"I'm not kidding, there's something on your-"

Suddenly, Peter was yelping in pain, hand shooting up to his chest. His entire face twisted up as he cradled his hand. Frankie reached out, hands unsure and awkward as she pulled his hand towards her and slapped the thing away. He cried out again, apparently having hit him too hard on the bite.

"Sorry, I-"

"What are you doing?" he groaned, face turning white with pain.

"I- I think that was a spider or something," Frankie tried to explain, gaze falling down to the bite, "Fuck, that looks ugly."

It was ugly. The bite was white and pink, half swollen with a tiny trail of blood. It definitely shouldn't look like that so fast. Frankie had never really seen a spider bite before, but that didn't look normal.

"No shit, it hurts," he replied, voice tight and aggravated as he ripped his hand from her grip.

"Maybe we should get you to Mr. Harrington and-"

"No," he cut her off, taking several steps back, "I don't… let's just finish the tour."

The blonde fixed him with a look, pointing towards the strange looking bite with worry. "That sounds like a very dumb idea."

"What do you care?" Peter spat back, turning his back and looking over his shoulder at her, almost like he was only half certain about ignoring her. "Just- just get back to the group, okay?"

Frankie's mouth pressed into a firm line. She wanted to tell him to not be such an idiot and get it checked out. That he didn't know what had bit him, that he could get really sick if he didn't do something. But the words stuck in her chest. He wouldn't listen to her anyway. The shorter boy walked away, still cradling his hand to his chest and she fought the urge to go tell Harrington. But she wouldn't. If he wanted to deal with it, whatever. It was his business. That didn't mean it didn't leave a sour taste in her mouth.

The rest of the tour was short. One last lap around the labs and the class was out in the courtyard waiting for the bus. Frankie, however, was waiting for her dad to pull up to the curb. She sat there, knees curled up to her stomach and phone in one hand. MJ had already started walking home, leaving the other girl with a rumbling stomach and a long stretch of silence. The back of her neck itched bad, keeping her mind and hands occupied as she scratched at it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter stumbling towards the curb. She straightened her back, suddenly concerned. He was sweaty and looked like he was about to fall over.

"Hey!" she called out, "Parker!"

He didn't seem to hear her, too busy trying to keep himself upright as he made his way to his Aunt May's beat up car. Or maybe he was ignoring her. That would be… understandable.

Before she could think too much about it, a familiar car pulled up in front of her. She stood and peered in, but instead of her father sitting at the wheel, it was a very annoyed looking Charlie. He was still in his workout clothes, clearly just coming from practice.

"What are you doing here?" she grumbled, face falling down into a scowl.

Charlie glared over at her. "Dad's busy. Get in."

"Are we going home?" she asked, still standing with her arms crossed on the curb.

"Where else, moron?" he griped with a shit eating grin, "Unless you want milkshakes."

Frankie's eyes flicked down to the concrete, her old shoes scuffed up and covered in old ink. She looked back at her brother, face carefully bored. She wouldn't tell him how empty her stomach was or how hard her heart beat at the idea of going out to get something. "Only if it's chocolate."

Without another word, she got into the car and buckled herself in. Still, something nagged at the back of her brain. She looked through the windshield at the Parker's old car where Peter's head rested against the window. A smear of sweat spread across the glass as they drove past, and Frankie couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry. Old habits die hard.

The itch was getting worse along the back of her neck. She scratched hard at it, feeling bits of skin scrape underneath her fingernails. She could feel it turning red and hot under her fingertips.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Charlie scoffed, reaching over and slapping her hand away from her neck.

Frankie slapped right back, hitting her brother hard on the hand. "An itch, dumbass."

"You look like you're clawing your spine out," he pointed out with an eye roll, keeping his gaze on the road.

The younger girl kept scratching, feeling like something was just under her skin. She reached back behind her with both hands and started to scratch harder. She could feel areas where he's pulled off some skin stinging under her nails.

"Jesus, what the hell are you-"

"OW!"

A sharp pain went up and down Frankie's neck, bright and intense. Her face twisted up and her whole body ducked down under the sting of it. She grabbed hold of her neck hard, thinking maybe if she applied pressure the pain would go down.

The car swerved at her cry, her brother thrown off and eyes wide. He quickly corrected himself, jerkily turning into a parking lot so quick that Frankie briefly thought he would crash. The car threw itself into a stop, almost throwing the two occupants through the windshield when Charlie turned towards her with wild eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked her incredulously, hands tight on the steering wheel.

"I- ow- I don't-"

Frankie's words sent shooting pains up her neck, like talking was making it worse. Underneath her palm, she could feel something writhing. Carefully, she moved her fingers and grabbed hold of whatever was stuck to her. With a tug and a pinprick of pain, she pulled whatever it was off of her and held it in front of her face.

"Oh God," her brother moaned, throwing his head back against his seat in annoyance, "A spider? That's what's got you freaking out?"

The stringy blonde shot her brother a harsh glare. "It really freaking hurt, Charlie."

"Whatever," he spat back, "Just toss it out the window. We're going home."

Frankie's mouth opened, a retort at the ready when it snapped shut in pain. The edges of her jaw felt like they were about to pop out. Drowsily, she looked over at the spider caught between her fingers. It didn't look special. Its legs writhed angrily and its little body wiggled like it was trying to escape. No special markings, no discoloration. Just a plain black spider. Maybe a few flecks of red. Absolutely nothing special, as far as she could tell. She shouldn't be worried about poison, but the pain in her neck begged to differ. Part of her wanted to go to the hospital, but they didn't have the insurance for that. Besides, she was probably overreacting.

With one last glance at the thing, she crushed it between her fingers and threw it out the open window beside her.


End file.
